I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!

Living with him is like being told a perpetual story: his mind is the biggest, most imaginative I have ever met. I could live in its growing countries forever.

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.

If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.

I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.